I
by SillverMedal
Summary: Zack’s having a hard time of it this year. Popularity is anything but longlived. When his own brother remains oblivious, Zack turns to writing on the stalls of the back bathroom he hides in. What he didn’t expect was for others to write back. Complete!
1. a Solitary Hideaway

**A/N**: For news on _Mistakes _please visit my profile. Sorry for any inconvinience, but I hope this story suffices. The ruler thing I usually use isn't working so I had to use these ugly x's. Chapter two will be longer. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_.

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_He hid in here a lot._

At first it was just during lunch because it humiliated him to sit alone. Of course, after a while, hunger protested about being satisfied among toilets so it took a few days back in the cafeteria before he was chased out by taunts and shoves.

Lunchtime was deemed over by a bell but in these back, shadowed hallways Zack heard no alarm and so he merely sat, back against the wall, until he felt like leaving. That time had slowly moved further and further through the weeks until Zack stayed hidden until the pattering of the basketballs in the gym signaled the final period of the day.

_He hid in here a lot._

Spent his days hiding in the gloomy grey of the cracked sink, ignoring his distorted reflection in the speckled mirror, making friends with the spiders that made their webs over forgotten stalls that still smelled like disinfectant from decades past.

_He hid in here a lot._

Since he went back for his sophomore year and discovered that his refusal to try the pot his friends had passed around during the summer had led to their _own_ refusal to be in any way connected to him.

This had surprised him; terrified him.

_He hid in here a lot._

He had a twin brother but Cody didn't hear, or didn't want to hear. One of the two. Cody thought that Zack had a friend named David whom he ate with outside because they liked the cool autumn air. Cody thought that Zack had grown tired of his immature friends and had decided to buckle down on his schoolwork. Cody thought that Zack loved the freedom that came with less popularity.

Cody thought, under all assumptions, wrong.

Cody had been living as a nerd since before time and was well used to the occasional insults from certain tables at lunch. Zack had been living as the insulter his entire life and was most certainly _not_ used to his sudden social drop.

He had brought a lunch but he didn't eat anymore. Just at dinner and maybe half a banana at breakfast. He said he was buying food when he brought a handful of crinkled dollar bills. In all honesty he was saving up.

He kept a little jar in this bathroom and inside this container was a lot of money. Zack could figure out how much without counting, but he wasn't a math mind and somebody had stolen his calculator.

_He hid in here a lot_.

Zack stared at a spider with an egg sack attached to her rear end. Interesting. He held out a black Sharpie Mini and poked at her. She scurried away into some unknown hole in the wall and Zack leaned in to watch her.

He uncapped the marker and wrote boldly, in permanent ink, on the door of the third stall; the stall closest to the wall.

**I, the lone wolf, am no longer king**.

He leaned back to survey his work before the soft clatter of basketballs warned him that last period was about to begin. It was important he made it to this class because Cody was in it (American History) with him and he didn't want to be MIA.

_He hid in here a lot_.

He capped the marker, laid it gently down next to his glass jar, and rose to his feet. Walking slowly across the tiled floor he pushed open the heavy door and walked out of the darkest hallway of the school.

_Your highness_…

He stopped, frowning, and turned around slightly to see if anyone was there and had whispered. The hallway was as deserted as ever.

Thinking nothing of it, he walked away.

_He hid in here a lot_.

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**To Be Continued**

_Please review_!


	2. a Hatred of Humanity

**A/N**: I truly was not expecting so many reviews! Thank you all so much, and I'm sorry for the delay in updating. I was having uploading problems...

**Disclaimer**: I do not own: _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_, _The Catcher in the Rye_,_ The Lord of the Flies_,_ Hamlet,_ or _Oliver Twist_.

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It was early in the morning and he didn't feel like hanging out in front of his locker. Last night his mom had gone out on a date with a man named Jacob and Cody had spent the entire evening talking about his favorite subject in the world: _school_.

Zack had nodded mostly, said little, and didn't really pay any attention.

Mostly just watched.

Cody had proceeded to inquiring after Zack's friend David, Zack's ex-girlfriend Janelle, Zack's grade in Ms. Lewis's American History class…

Zack answered fine to all of them.

Lying was a hell of a lot easier than telling the truth, but being honest didn't _hurt_ so much when people believed you.

What he'd written on the bathroom wall? _That_ was being honest. When he had made up that story about goofing off with David in math class? That was a lie.

Naturally.

So now he was back in the back bathroom, backpack slung over one shoulder and book under an arm. He'd taken to reading in here to pass the time, and his newest endeavor was J.D. Salinger's _The Catcher in the Rye_. It was a fascinating novel; one he was finding immense difficulty in putting down.

The main character was Holden Caulfield and at first Zack had found him disgusting and crazy (which was probably the point; Zack hadn't read the intro), but as his year of solitude went on he found himself liking this guy more and more. For one, they were exactly the same age, and two, Holden wasn't so crazy.

He was…Confused.

Zack didn't think himself confused, he thought himself lonely which actually tended to add up to one and the same, but who was counting anyway?

Anyway, Holden spent a lot of his time lying and being intrigued by sex, and though Zack really had no interest (or chance) in terms of romance or what happened in bed, he was getting astonishingly good at lying. So good, in fact, that he found himself studying Holden's techniques, and then when Holden's lies became less like Zack's opportunities he moved on to Charles Dickens and William Golding and then even once or twice to Shakespeare; though lying with _thee's_ and _thy's_ was a bit phony. Holden Caulfield hated anything _phony_ and that's where Zack related to him the most. In the hatred of the fake.

He hated how his old friends were _phony_ and how their games and their taunts were so _phony_ and how society itself was based on principles so _phony_ they _reeked_ of it.

Sometimes it made him sad, sometimes it made him hopeless and desperate and he wanted to cry, cry, _cry_ and just disappear from this world called _High School_.

And sometimes, like this time, it made him angry.

He reached into his pencil pouch and whipped out a sharpie, uncapping it viciously and crouching down by the wall again, prepared to spell out how much he deeply _loathed_ humanity. Yeah. Humanity. Everyone but Holden Caulfield, Jack Merridew, the Artful Dodger, and he supposed Hamlet, too, at times. And his mother.

And himself.

He didn't hate himself because at present he was his own best friend, and as corny as that sounded (way too Hollywood for someone who hated society) it was true and though he'd been a fan of lying, the truth was important to at least _remember_. He wondered briefly if he hated Cody; if he hated his own _brother_ but a voice inside him reminded him that if Cody really cared Cody would know what was going on, and Cody did or knew neither.

He leaned in to write the words, but drew back at the sight of the wall. Frowning, he peeked in for a closer look.

There: his words from the day before, **I, the lone wolf, am no longer king**. That was fine and good and very _true_, but then there was something else. More words written neatly below his; words he didn't remember seeing before. Words that said:

**Hello, lone wolf. Are you not king?**

He blinked. That was a bit odd. There was no denying that he'd missed it the day before because that was a direct response to what _he'd_ written. He'd thought he was the only one to ever come into this bathroom, but apparently he was not.

Frowning a little in unease, he stood up and glanced in both stalls, feeling Goosebumps spring up on his arms. He was alone. For now.

At the same time he was feeling a bit creeped out, he couldn't deny the fact that a little seed of excitement had been planted in the pits of his stomach because somebody had actually _cared_ enough to write _back_.

Pointing his sharpie back at the wall, he decided to continue the conversation he'd apparently begun. A rush of thrill spread through his veins as he touched the marker to the cold, unforgiving grey wall.

**Once I was king. Now I'm alone.**

He checked his watch and realized he'd missed the first ten minutes of his first period class. Readjusting his backpack, he put away the pen and left the bathroom.

He unconsciously began to call the other writer _Holden_ in his head.

_He hid in here a lot_.

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**To Be Continued**


	3. a Pitiful Humility

**A/N**: Thanks so much for all the reviews! Glad you all are liking this.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_ or _The Catcher in the Rye_.

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He was on page three hundred and sixty seven of _The Catcher in the Rye_ when the pattering of the basketballs in the gymnasium startled him out of his revelry. He'd checked the wall again upon his entrance during the lunch period. It now read:

**I, lone wolf, am no longer king.**

**Hello, long wolf. Are you not king?**

**Once I was king. Now I'm alone.**

Beneath his last line someone else, _Holden_, had written:

**The first king is alone upon his throne.**

And now he'd written, with that same black Sharpie in messy handwriting that would forever annoy his teachers:

**This is my throne, now. Are you king?  
**It was kind of poetic, this little written conversation. Deep. Reflective. Maybe if he saw it in a movie he would frown and scorn it, but right now it was the only thing keeping him hooked on this weak grip of sanity.

So, anyway, the basketballs were out but Zack had made the unconscious decision to just stay there. Until he finished this book, until Holden gave him a sign, until his old friends remembered to acknowledge his existence.

Or forever.

Today only two people had talked to him. Jaime Allvalda in his second period class to inform him that he found him to be a selfish asshole that not only deserved to spend time in Hell, but should also probably familiarize himself with the knuckle system that would be made very apparent should he decide to do anything stupid.

And then Cody had said something to him, too. That morning as Zack pretended to pack up for his first period class. Cody had asked him if he wanted to invite David over on Friday night because Cody was inviting Tapeworm and Bob and he was _trying_ to work up the courage to ask Olivia Harmon; the girl he had a crush on. Zack had liked her, too, at one point.

He closed his locker and said that David had to go his grandparent's (who lived in Ohio) house on Friday. David didn't exist. But there was bound to be grandparents living in the state of Ohio.

And then he disappeared.

Now it was later and the day would end after this last period called it quits. He kind of wished he could be friends with Cody's friends, but that would mean lying about David. Cody would understand. Cody would pity him.

Pity.

Zack hated pity. Phony pity, especially. Pity never solved anything; it only made things worse. A lot worse.

Pity was a useless thing to feel, anyway. Holden felt no pity. Not for others, at least. Zack found that more than a little ironic because if he was so dead set on ridding the world of everything phony than he'd feel a bit bad for those who couldn't imagine a world where everything was real and genuine.

But that was beside the point.

The point was that he was currently in the back bathroom of his high school after spending the past three months of the year lying effortlessly about an imaginary friend and was currently corresponding with, well, with a fictional character.

How long, this fall from grace.

And how _humiliating_.

Humiliation. Like pity. Pitiful humility had pretty much sealed his fate and landed him in this atrocious excuse for a cafeteria. He was eating with a _toilet_, for Christ's sake! _Damn_ he hated school.

He kicked at the sink angrily and thought very seriously about writing some choice four letter words to decorate the grim interior. Either that or scribbling out the phrases he'd used as a means of conversation and writing a big fat _SCREW IT_ to the world in its place. _That_ would be satisfying!

…_And stupid_, reminded a wise little voice in his head. Zack scowled and blew out his breath as he slowly brought his legs up to hug to his chest. Life sucked, man.

But he shouldn't say that, because if he was dead-set on hating pity he shouldn't be feeling sorry for himself. _Talk_ about hypocritical.

Add humiliation and pity to that mental list where _phony_ already resided defiantly in his head. As long as he was going to play the part of the loner he needed to get down all the things he hated and stood against straight. Holden did, and Holden would in his place.

The funny thing? Zack realized as he reopened his book and began reading three hundred and sixty eight of _The Catcher in the Rye_ that this whole being alone thing? He was actually beginning to like it.

_He hid in here a lot_…

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**To Be Continued**

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	4. a Time of Confusion

**A/N**: Sorry for the delay; I was focusing on my other story for a few days. Thanks so much for all the reviews! I'm thrilled you all are relating and liking this. I hope I can continue to satisfy :).

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_ or J.D. Salinger's _The Catcher in the Rye_.

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_The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody'd move. . . . Nobody'd be different. The only thing that would be different would be you._

Zack liked that. Liked it so much that he'd written it above the toilet in the middle stall. His black Sharpie led his fingers to that spot on the wall where, yesterday and the days before, he'd been continuing a conversation with Holden.

Holden, predictably, had written back.

The wall now read:

**I, lone wolf, am no longer king.**

**Hello, long wolf. Are you not king?**

**Once I was king. Now I'm alone.**

**The first king is alone upon his throne.**

**This is my throne, now. Are you king?**

**Every man is a king, every voice is his throne.**

He stopped to think for a moment, hand hovering inches above the wall in a silent pondering that would quake even the most docile of autumn's leaves from their quiet transgress within the fields of summer's wrath. Winter would come and winter would save them from a shattered resistance to change, eliminating any hope for going back and coming without any hope for spring.

Zack didn't much like summer. It was a confusing season; one where you were astonishingly content to just do nothing for the latter part of June, and oddly restless once July came around. School, classes, friends…They became distant memories in which the mind could not be bothered. Fruitless apples that hung from dying branches and baked endlessly in the midday's sun even as groping hands reached for their nonexistent seeds.

And then August rolled around and it reminded you too much of September. Too much of going _back_, so you tried to make the best of everything. Sleep in every morning, stay up late every night, drink every glass of lemonade with extra sugar, another lemon, a straw that bent just the way you liked it to bend.

Summer was a confused season.

Fall was dead-set on being the rebellious changer, Winter was good at enveloping everything in a freezing blanket of white and stilling the most dangerous of flames, Spring's only hope was to have hope-to smooth the time between two opposites and to give birth to new miracles.

Summer just…_was_.

Once upon a time Zack had been Fall. He'd been the rebel of his small family; the one who would change to better suit his selfish fancies as he moved through life at the speed of a bullet.

But Fall, as daring and challenging as it was, was stronger than the other seasons because to take what was warm and burning and slowly kill it so that it paved the way for winter's icy grasp was more of a talent, more of a hardship, than Spring's much anticipated performance.

Strong enough to resist temptation. He'd turned down the weed, walked away from the booze, and locked the door firmly behind him as the party raged out of control. And when one friend tried to follow him home in his big brother's Ford, body drenched in the water of alcohol, he was told the next morning that Drew had been killed. Gone. All because he'd chosen to drink. Because he'd chosen to follow Zack home to try and persuade him to just _have fun_, _man_.

Now, Zack was a summer.

Confused. Alone. Pressured to be this way, that way, not him, not that, not _this_. Summer hid away from the winds of change and huddled in fear as the gentle touch of blossoms graced its back.

Zack hated confusion.

Who was he? What was he? Where was he? Why was he? How was he? What was happening? What already had? _Why_? _Why_? _Why_? _Why_? _Why_?

Holden wasn't confusion's biggest fan, either. He liked to know what was going on. But then again, who didn't? Humanity: Phony, pitying, alone, and confused.

He stole a glance towards where he was keeping his lunch money. He had a lot now. Enough to do, well, a lot of things.

But confusion stopped his mind from forming ideas, confusion stilled his hand as he leaned in to respond to Holden's last reply, confusion held him hostage in this bathroom. In this world of his own.

Running a hand over his face he took a deep breath and touched the black Sharpie to the wall, the letters forming words before his eyes.

**Too many kings mean too many rules.**

And as Zack settled back to read more of Holden's book his mind slowly unraveled itself and suddenly he was not so confused.

_He hid in here a lot_.

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**To Be Continued**

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	5. a Breaker of Rules

**A/N**: Sorry for the wait! Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts. We're now approaching the climactic point. You've now entered the _Twilight Zone_. Hehe.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_ or _The Catcher in the Rye_.

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Zack collapsed into the bathroom, face stained with tears and eyes red and wide. His stomach ached in pain and a steady flow of blood trickled down from a little cut on his cheek. Gripping the sink for support he sunk down and smacked his head back onto the cold wall, watching as black dots danced before his eyes.

They'd cornered him after fourth period history.

All of them. All of the faces, all of the hands and the voices and the feet that kicked, kicked, kicked until he screamed for them to stop, stop, _stop_! He had curled up in a ball and tried to wait out the storm, but still the fists rained down and still he cried out softly in protest.

And then when he was about to give up, stop, close his eyes, let them kill him everything stopped. His attackers had scurried away, the laughs and taunts and leers had faded to the squealing of rubber shoes on the floor, and a dead weight of _hurt_ had fallen upon his shoulders.

He'd dared to raise his hand, eyes squinted in pain and arm draped across his chest protectively even as it ached. His old friends had fled and in their place was an empty hallway. An empty place.

Zack had crawled over to a locker, used the combination lock to push himself up and had staggered to his feet. Just as he was about to turn to come to the back bathroom he caught sight of a figure at the end of the hall and his stomach, bruised, battered, and heaving did a double back flip.

It was Cody.

His brother had reached, reached, reached for him as though to help him-

-_No_-

-And to hug him-

-_NO**-**_

-And to tell him that he was sorry, so _sorry_ for not being there-

-_NO!_-

-To help him through…

But Zack had somehow mustered enough strength, enough energy and willpower to bolt through the halls and back to this sanctuary. He'd always been more athletic than Cody and this time, it seemed, despite all that had happened he could still beat his brother.

And then he started to cry and he couldn't stop. Holden wouldn't cry right now, and neither would Jack or any of the other great liars. But he wasn't Holden. He wasn't some great hero or anyone who evoked great change.

He was just…Zack.

And humanity sucked. Pity sucked. Anything fickle sucked. Confusion sucked. He turned to the wall and to the ongoing conversation he'd been having with Holden.

**I, lone wolf, am no longer king.**

**Hello, long wolf. Are you not king?**

**Once I was king. Now I'm alone.**

**The first king is alone upon his throne.**

**This is my throne, now. Are you king?**

**Every man is a king, every voice is his throne.**

**Too many kings mean too many rules.**

And Holden had added:

**Too many rules means too many kings.**

Zack blinked and reread the last remark several times. Rules were stupid. Really stupid. They obviously meant nothing or he wouldn't be sitting in here, hurt, aching, bleeding, and his heart as heavy as lead.

What were rules, anyway? Little sentences written down on paper, little words meant to rule society? _Please_. All they did, all they had ever done, was cause anger and frustration and spark rebellion.

You tell a man not to open the door and the first thing he does is disobey, whether he wants to or not. Zack had always been the one stealing the cookies or throwing the football or kissing the girl—and he'd been happy then. He'd paid no regard to _rules_ or _limitations_.

In fact, the more that he thought about it rules were the entire reason he was in the back bathroom in the first place. Because he'd refused to go against his own personal _morals_ and had turned down the weed. Because he hadn't wanted to _break the rules_. The one time he actually listened to these limitations they dig his own grave. Get him beat up. Destroy his social life.

Rules _sucked_.

The scribe writes down one hundred words on a paper and of those hundred only one does not command. Irony triumphs and it is that one word that makes the difference. That one word that changes the world.

_Loneliness._

_Humanity._

_Pity._

_Confusion._

And everything about it was so _fake_ that Zack, again, had no trouble understanding Holden Caulfield's hate or anguish or fury _because all of this was so wrong_! It was unfair and unjust and it was _destroying him_ and the rest of the world!

He angrily wiped away tears and yanked off the cap to his black Sharpie, pointing it directly underneath Holden's last remark, prepared to write down what he really felt, what he really meant, what he _really wanted to say_…

**The king should not make rules. The rules should make the king.**

And he pulled back to read what he'd written and felt an odd sort of pride blossom in his stomach. A pride that made him feel strangely whole, like he'd actually _done_ something with his time in this self-inflicted prison sentence.

Zack scooted over to the back of one of the stalls (wincing as a pain in his side flared up suddenly) and grasped the jar that held his stash of lunch money. The outside of the jar was covered with a label and it was tinted so that one could not see inside. Zack unscrewed the lid and reached his hand in to grab a dollar. He was thirsty and they sold water bottles in a vending machine down the hall.

His hand touched glass, not paper.

Frowning, he withdrew his arm and looked inside, expecting to see the dozens of five dollar bills he'd stuffed inside littered with the occasional penny or nickel or quarter or dime, but instead he saw something that made his heart skip a beat.

There was no money in his jar.

In its place were four black Sharpies.

_He hid in here a lot_.

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**To Be Continued**

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_P.S. If you're a fan of the movie_ Stand By Me_ I've begun a small fic under another username (SameBlueSky). There aren't a lot of fics in that category so go and support the wonderful stories if you're a fan of the film :)._

_Please review_!


	6. a Face in the Glass

**A/N**: Technically, this is the end. You have now entered the Twilight Zone. I hope you enjoy your stay and please close the door on your way out. Epilogue coming soon.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_ or _The Catcher in the Rye. _

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_"Zack Martin? Yeah, man, that kid's crazy, man, like seriously, dude."_

_"Frickin' psycho, if you ask me. Makes his brother look like Brad Pitt."_

_"Dude's a complete idiot, man, you have no idea. He's failing STUDY HALL!"_

_"Wasted weed, you know?"_

_"FARTIN' MARTIN!"_

_"Wacko Zacko!"_

_"LOSER!"_

_"LOSER!"_

"LOSER!"

Zack covered his ears and crumpled into a ball, the chants echoing in his ears as he clutched the moneyless jar to his chest, sobbing as the weight of his destroyed world came crashing, crashing, _crashing_ down.

Holden hadn't been a loser. He'd done what had needed to be done. Zack had finished the book—ended his friendship with the character. Holden had felt like this, too, at one point. Felt like everything he hated, everything he _despised_ and _loathed_ was coming closer, closer, _closer_ so that it was nearly _smothering_ him.

And then the novel had stopped and Holden had told him d_on't tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody_.

Zack hadn't told a soul about anything.

Hadn't told Cody he was like this.

Hadn't told his mother he was like this.

Hadn't even told Holden he was like this.

Because Holden just _knew_, man, like…Like Zack _was_ Holden and somehow their two completely different worlds were the same and like a parallel wholeness and wellness and forgiveness always seemed a little…out of…reach…

Suddenly, anger exploded in the pit of Zack's stomach and he wanted to BREAK SOMETHING and CRUSH SOMETHING and KILL, KILL, KILL BECAUSE NONE OF THIS WAS FAIR! It wasn't _fair_ and he shouldn't have to take it!

He was a sixteen-year-old high school guy who had once had good friends, a good family, good relationships. And then he goes and HEAVEN FORBID does the _right thing_ and is shunned from society?

He raised the bowl above his head and slammed it down onto the ground so that it shattered, shattered, _shattered_ into a million pieces. He clenched his eyes shut and gripped at his hair, hunkering down so that he more resembled the _nothing_ that he was. The _nothing_ that he'd _always been_.

With shaking hands he looked up, tears streaming down from his glittering eyes. He stared at the pieces of glass on the floor and as he did so a slight glimmer caught his eye…squinting, he looked closer.

The shard of broken glass seemed to be reflecting something, and as Zack leaned in towards it he saw something that made his stomach flip.

Faces…At least a dozen…Staring, watching, _looking at him_!

He cried out and whipped his neck around to look behind him, heart clenching when he saw nothing but the walls.

He looked back down at the glass. The faces were still there. Faces of boys and girls, all around his age. Some were crying, some were glaring, and some just stared. Eyes empty, void of all that had once _made them something_. Reduced to nothing but a memory. Zack began to whimper as he looked at the faces; he recognized no one.

And yet they were all too familiar…All too much like _him_.

The faces stared at him up from the shattered glass and, shaking with fear and confusion, Zack turned instinctively towards the wall where he'd been carrying out that conversation with Holden…

**I, lone wolf, am no longer king.**

**Hello, long wolf. Are you not king?**

**Once I was king. Now I'm alone.**

**The first king is alone upon his throne.**

**This is my throne, now. Are you king?**

**Every man is a king, every voice is his throne.**

**Too many kings mean too many rules.**

**Too many rules means too many kings.**

**The king should not make rules. The rules should make the king.**

Zack slowly craned his neck to look at the wall, closer than he ever had before. On the faded old paint he could just make out old words, old ink that formed letters and sentences…Driven away by time, perhaps, but still there…Still there…

Conversations, written in every sort of hand imaginable, speckled the walls. Zack looked at them all in wonder, tracing them with his fingers, following every misshaped letter with wide eyes.

In every conversation something was the same.

In every written speech one thing never changed.

Holden's replies.

_Hello Lone Wolf…Alone upon his throne…Every voice…Too many rules…_

Zack froze, something akin to terror racing through his veins and clouding all rational thought from his dazed mind. His gaze wandered back to what he had written, nearly a month ago, now, and took a quavering breath that sounded as loud as a gunshot in the tense, silent air.

_I, lone wolf, am no longer king._

And now something was written beneath his last remark that had not been there before. Holden had replied.

In response to Zack's statement in regards to rules and kings, Holden had written in his own mysterious way:

**Hello, lone wolf, are you not king?**

Zack slowly pushed himself into a standing position, slung his backpack over his shoulders, wiped the tears from his eyes, and kicked away the shards that still reflected the faces of those who had wept, sat, hid, stood, screamed, lived, died in that back bathroom before him.

He felt numb. Like nothing was real. Like nothing had ever been real.

The basketball's started pattering on the gymnasium floor. Zack splashed cool water on himself, ignoring the faces that watched him through the mirror. He took out _The Catcher in the Rye_ from his backpack, set it underneath the words that black Sharpie had written through his hands, and walked towards the door.

He opened it. Closed it behind him. Didn't look back.

_He hid in here a lot_.

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**The End**

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_Eplilogue coming soon_

_Please review!_


	7. Epilogue

**A/N**: Thanks to all the reviewers. You all made this story. Here's the epilogue...

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _The Suite Life of Zack and Cody_

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A janitor walked into the bathroom in the back hallways.

He hadn't cleaned it in a while; he'd been out with health issues and his replacement hadn't known it even existed.

Walking inside he whistled slightly as he mopped up the near spotless floor. A spider with an egg sack climbed up the wall and he let her go. No use killing her.

When the floors were clean he took a sponge and moved over to the wall, frowning as he saw a new chain of graffiti. Damn kids. He didn't even bother reading it as he scrubbed it out of view. Like the other permanent marker vandalism cases on the walls of this bathroom the words remained, barely visible, faded to a light tinge.

But he didn't really care as he moved in to clean a stall.

In one, he found a jar and when he unscrewed the top (nose crinkling; he'd be disturbed if he found drugs) he found money inside. Lots of it.

Grunting, he pocketed a few fives and shoved the rest into the case hanging from his equipment.

Later that day he would turn it into the front office.

Someone would claim it. Eventually.

As the janitor walked through the back halls, he didn't notice he was being watched by dozens of hidden eyes.

_They hid in there a lot_.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x

**The End**

x x x x x x x x x x x x x


End file.
